


Unfortunate

by bootson



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfortunate

**Author's Note:**

> I started out set (DETERMINED I TELL YOU) to write smut again. Really, I did. Instead, I can’t get anything past cuddling out (and we’ll say it’s because my nephew is over here every two minutes and even if he can’t read, I can’t be smutty when he’s trying to play Power Rangers). But, anyway, I like cuddling, so I’m okay with it.
> 
>  **ETA:** [](http://fuckr.livejournal.com/profile)[**fuckr**](http://fuckr.livejournal.com/) pointed out that [Thank You by Dido](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=thqK24LJR3o) is pretty much perfect for this. Just putting it out there because...well, it's so true I had to share. ;)

There was this story his sister used to read to him when they were kids, something about a terrible day. Chris was pretty sure there were about thirty additional negative adjectives attached to this _terrible day_ , but he wasn’t about to call his mother and ask. Plus, were he to call Kate, she would probably find some way around the laws of physics and shoot him through his own telephone; she was good that way. And it was probably possible through a landline, which was all he had at the moment.

In retrospect, the cell phone debacle was where the day had gone downhill. Chris woke up right on time that morning, ready to get a run out of his way before a meeting with the producer and director of a new film. The run was uneventful, but his ankle felt tight when he climbed the front steps at home. Having left his phone behind on accident, Chris grabbed it on the way to the bathroom. There were no messages of dire circumstances so he placed it by the sink for safe keeping and climbed into the shower. The hot water was phenomenal and revitalizing and Chris, never the morning person, was actually proclaiming this a good one.

Until he was shaving and someone called, his phone vibrating right into the sink. He cursed, the sound reverberating off the tiles and bouncing back. By the time he’d retrieved it, the phone was a goner. He pulled the battery out and tried to dry it. Unfortunately, he could see the water marks on the screen and knew it was a lost cause. It wasn’t until he saw red speckling the white countertop that he realized he’d slipped the razor when he’d made a mad grab for the phone. He pressed a piece of tissue to it and went to put something presentable together in his bedroom.

Where he promptly snapped a button off his favorite cardigan. Actually, it was Zach’s, which meant he’d have to hear about it if he didn’t get it fixed. His best button-downs were crumpled in a ball somewhere near the washing machine so he had to make due with an old pinstriped one. At some point, it had been black but was closer to gray at this point. His pants were the wrong fit; his only remaining socks were white, clashing with the annoying slacks; and his shoes were scuffed.

His car had a flat. La Mill messed up his order twice, as if he hadn’t been ordering one of three things for as long as he could remember. He didn’t realize the tissue was still on his face until some girl had asked for an autograph and kindly pointed it out. Traffic was backed up so he took an alternate route and managed to get trapped behind a four car pile-up.

Without a way to connect to the outside world, Chris was considered _flakey_ when he showed up for his interview thirty-seven minutes late. At which point they told him _thanks, but no thanks_ in business language. They would call him, let him know if they wanted him to read for the part. Then the receptionist announced Paul Walker’s arrival, which the men he’d been speaking with beamed at before sending him on his way, and, clearly, Chris was out of luck.

His sunglasses had somehow fallen out the driver’s side door when he’d parked and been trampled before his return. The store was out of his phone so he had to settle for some very basic loaner contraption, which needed to be charged for about 12 hours before it worked, until his came in. There was a sudden downpour at which point everyone forgot how to operate a motor vehicle and Chris discovered his window leaked. On his way into the house, he stepped in a puddle and soaked his left shoe and trousers leg up above the ankle.

Making it inside, surely nothing else could go wrong. Apparently, karma really had it out for him, though. He changed into once-worn jeans and a maybe-clean t-shirt before deciding making dinner would be the best option. Until, that is, Chris realized he was out of bread and had forgotten to run the dishwasher, meaning he had no clean pans. The milk was spoiled and the cheese was turning a nice white-slash-green color.

So he ordered a pizza. At least there was beer to go with it, even if it wasn’t his choice domestic brand. If he had to settle for some random imported crap Karl had left the last time he’d visited, months ago, then so be it. The pizza arrived; Chris didn’t have the cash for a tip. He didn’t open the pizza and discover the sardines, of all things, until the delivery guy was gone. And really, who ate those things? More importantly, even if you removed them, the taste and smell lingered. He threw the entire thing in the trash before dragging it out.

And ripping the bag. Fifteen minutes and another drenched outfit later, Chris climbed in the shower again. This run of bad luck nearly took him on a fall which would have ended with his temple against the faucet. He counted holding his footing as a win, but that hardly made up for anything else.

Even though it was barely dark, other than the storm clouds, Chris pulled on clean boxers and crawled into bed. Maybe a comforter wasn’t exactly going to ward off negative energy, but it never hurt to try. He flipped television channels, settled for CNN because _someone_ was having worse luck than him _somewhere_ in the world. It was the tiniest of consolations, but it was better than nothing.

When he heard his front door slam, Chris tried to remember if he’d locked it. Deciding he probably hadn’t, Chris rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. If someone was breaking and entering, they could rob him blind then suffocate him. The way the day had been, Chris figured a fight would be a useless waste of energy anyway. There were heavy footfalls down the hall and Chris rolled onto his back, head lulling to the side to watch the door.

Seconds passed before Zach stood in the doorway, mostly a silhouette since Chris had forgone lights. Sighing, Chris turned melodramatic and threw an arm over his eyes. Zach chuckled, apparently kicking off his shoes since Chris heard them thud against the wall. He wanted to complain about mud in his carpet but couldn’t be bothered.

“Bad day?” Zach’s voice was low, soft, directly beside his ear.

Chris shivered and nodded, maybe whined, dropping his arm over his head, holding his other hand out. Zach laughed again, crawling fully onto the bed before taking his hand to link their fingers. Instead of forming himself to Chris’ side as expected, Zach rolled onto his back and tugged at their linked hands. Without even thinking, Chris let himself be pulled half on top of Zach.

“God, you’re tense.”

Chris only nodded, burying his face against the curve where Zach’s neck met his shoulder. Hands were in his hair immediately, deft fingers threading through the strands, thumbs massaging gently against his temple and hairline respectively. Warm breath coasted across his ear and Chris tried to match his exhales with Zach’s.

Tension slowly melted away as they breathed together, Chris’ body molding around Zach. Shifting, he nudged his leg between Zach’s, curling more against the hot body which was currently easing his strain. He reached over to pull the blankets up, holding Zach with him in the protective cocoon.

The tv was a low murmur of sound which Chris could no longer decipher. He thought Zach may be watching it, intended to ask what current events were being debated, but when he turned his head to glance up there were warm brown eyes on his. Creases of worry lined the gorgeous eyes but a small grin on Zach’s lips offset them.

“Want to talk about it?” The words were barely a whisper, not loud enough to break the sudden trance Chris found himself in. There was a rhythm, new tonality which served to sooth as much as the contact. Chris shook his head, burrowing tighter against the other man.

Minutes passed, Zach’s hands working slow circles of caresses over every inch of his body within reach. Every so often, a soft kiss would find its way against random points of his face, including but not limited to: his closed eyelids, forehead, bridge of his nose, and just behind his ear. Never his lips. Finally, Chris cracked. The tranquil atmosphere pulled all the ridiculous Murphy’s Law nonsense out of him in a random, slightly disjointed, stream of consciousness style. When he finished his tales of woe, Zach laughed and held him tighter for a few seconds.

“Your luck hasn’t much changed,” he muttered through chuckles. Chris felt a momentary panic because, obviously, this was pretty much the highlight of his week, let alone the crappy day he’d been dealing with. Whatever this punch-line was, Chris was hardly in the mood for the teasing. Hands against the mattress, Chris pushed himself up enough to look down at Zach and catalogue his expression, which was largely mirth.

“I brought Chinese, which I’m thinking is cold by now. I know how much you hate cold eggrolls.

Instantly, Chris felt his face light up, every trace of tension gone. Sliding back down, Chris caught Zach’s lips briefly in the lightest of kisses.

“God, I love you,” he laughed, maybe a touch too ardent.

“I know.” They were smiling against each other’s lips, soon laughing quietly before Zach rolled out from under him. “Stop being unfortunate, I’m hungry.”

Finally, after an entire day of feeling like the universe was punishing him for _Just My Luck_ , Chris felt like himself again. “Fine, but if I get a chopstick lodged in my esophagus, I’m holding you fully responsible.”


End file.
